A wolf appeared to have caught me.
It didn’t seem too bad to start—
It ate my flexor carpi radialis3
In a mighty screaming snap.
So, I thought, That’s that!
The chance’s remote
Of a repeat attack
Of such a rare event.
But then it appeared
On the other side, and leered—
It liked the taste of the other one
And was nibbling that one, the hide!
After that, I was suddenly weary.
I’ll manage without, I’m sure,
But I’m left with an interesting query:
How will I pull up my pants?
(It’s not really a wolf, I know,
And I’m sure it sounds lame,
But when I think of my enemy,
I like to know his name.)
But there’s more! Today,
To my despair, as I struggled
With my pants, my wolf sniggered.
I heard him move about.
He found a flexor digitorum superficialis.
Perhaps he likes it on a whim;
Maybe instead I could interest him
In a nice-sounding hallux valgus instead.
I googled flexors until my eyes bled.
I spoke to my advisors and said,
I asked them this: “Pray,
Why is there no wolf repellant spray?”
My advisors answered with a shrug and a pout;
They’ve never been able to work it out.
“So tell me, sirs, if you can,
How will I pull up my pants?”